Fortunate One
by Nyhlus
Summary: Katniss, one year after becoming the sole winner of the 74th Hunger Games, is about to face her one of her toughest challenges: becoming a mentor. With the help of Haymitch, she must embark on the gruelling and devastating job of trying to bring one of the newest batch of District 12 tributes home alive.
1. 75th Hunger Games

_Story Context: This story takes place during the 75th Hunger Games. However, certain things occurred differently in the 74th Hunger Games. Mainly, there was no lovers decree that two from the same district can win. There was only one victor from the 74th Hunger Games. So there was no great act of defiance, no movement towards revolution, no change. A different Quarter Quell was chosen._

 **Fortunate One**

Chapter 1:

That day hung in the back of my mind for months: the reaping. I dreaded it. I ached and begged for it not to come. And, in the morning once it finally came, I laid awake wide eyed and scared. It was about to start. The 75th Hunger Games was about to really begin. I could feel the weight of the future push down on my chest. I was to become a mentor. I was to be tasked with training the tributes from my district. It was a dreadful assignment, one I was in no way prepared. I knew the odds. We all knew the odds. It took Haymitch 24 tries before he finally had a victor. Was there really anyway I could produce a victor my first time? It felt like an impossible task. There was no chance District 12 would win two years in a row. It made me sick to my stomach to even think it, because that would mean two more dead children. Two dead children who were my responsibility. I wanted no part of it. I had suffered enough from the Hunger Games the year before. I was done. I already lost enough.

I could hear my mother and Prim move quietly downstairs. They were careful not to disturb me. It was partially out of empathy; they knew it was hard on me. The day was also the anniversary of my decision to volunteer. A choice that shook our family and followed me every moment of my life. They were scared too, because of the night before. I stormed into the house, having not seen them in weeks, and nearly snapped at Prim for asking about how I was doing. I'm sure they could barely recognize me.

It was my fault. I arrived late from the Capital. The preparations for the Games required my presence at nearly every event. I sickly trudged from one public appearance to another, desperately trying to hide my discontent. It was a Quarter Quell, so there was more fanfare than usual. After a poll voted me the best Victor in Hunger Games history, I couldn't escape their obsession. When I finally returned, I hoped to head straight home. I was worried enough about the reaping. But Gale was standing right by the Hovercraft when I disembarked.

We fought. He was angry at me. I was angry at him. He had better reasons than I did. I was angry about him interrupting my plans. He was angry about me abandoning everyone for the past month. He called me a shill. He said I'd become one of them: a slave to the Capital. I tried to explain why he was wrong. I had no more say in the matter than he did. After this year, when people finally start to forget about the Burning Girl, I'd have more time. We could actually be together. He didn't believe me; he called it all excuses. He might have been right. I offered to stay the night with him. I could have used a warm body next to me, but he spurned me and walked away.

By the time I arrived at the Victor's Village, I was fuming. How could he treat me like that? And yet, I knew that Gale was not the problem. It was the Capital. It was the stupid Games. It was the fact that my tributes felt destined to die. That I was going to lose someone else to the Games no matter what. I didn't want it to happen once more. It couldn't go through losing Rue again. I couldn't go through losing ... him again.

When I made my way down, Prim was humming in the kitchen. Her hair was braided and she wore a white dress. It was her second reaping. I watched her through heavy eyes. I could not save her this time.

"Where's mother?" I asked.

"She left," Prim answered, turning towards me. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," I lied.

"Do you want something to eat? We got some fresh bread earlier."

My face scrunched up. "No. That's okay. I don't feel like eating."

"You should eat something." Prim replied.

"Don't worry about me." I said shrugging her off. "How are you feeling? Are you scared?" Through all the fanfare of the Capital, the dread of becoming a mentor, I had almost forgotten Prim still had to participate in the reaping. But looking at her now, she felt like an entirely different person than the scared little girl I volunteered to protect. I could only imagine watching her big sister fight for her life in the Hunger Games made her grow up real fast.

Prim stared at me for a moment. "I'm fine. There's no way I will be selected again. And unlike you, I don't plan on volunteering."

I smiled. "Good." One thing was for sure, it did not feel like she needed my protection anymore. "I should go and find Haymitch. We need to get ready. I want him to actually stay in his seat this time."

"Good luck," Prim said, as if I was the one who needed it.

It was not hard to find Haymitch. He was sitting silently in the dark at his kitchen table. He wore a pinstripe black and white suit that looked like it had spent the last year bunched up in a ball somewhere. His long blond hair was a complete mess dangling in front of his face. His hand was wrapped tightly around the neck of a large bottle of whiskey.

"Haymitch," I whispered as I took a seat across from him.

Haymitch shook his head as if breaking from a trance. "Why are you here so early?" Haymitch slurred his words as he spoke.

"The reaping starts in two hours. We have to go and prepare."

"Two hours?" Haymitch called out. "That means I've got two hours and five minutes more of drinking before a pair of peacekeepers smash down my front door and drag me there. And since this is my last ever Games as a mentor, why break with tradition?"

"Look, Haymitch. I appreciate you agreeing to help me and teach me what it means to be a mentor, but I don't want to be babysitting you the whole time. I want to focus on helping these tributes."

"Helping? Is that what you think you'll be doing?" Haymitch nearly laughed. His head perked to the side in mild amusement. "All you're going to do is make this whole process a little nicer on them. That's all. Have you had a drink yet?" He offered the bottle to me.

I pushed it away. "No. I don't plan on looking like a drunk fool."

"It makes this whole process a bit more bearable. Trust me," Haymitch said. "Not much is worse than the reaping. That's when they get the most emotional. Afterwards, the tributes usually resign to their fate, but at the reaping they just want to beg and make it all go away."

I sat up from my seat. "Well, if you're going to continue and be stubborn, I'll make my own way."

"Katniss," Haymitch spoke up as I began to walk out. "Whatever you do, don't look at them when their name's called. You have to think of them as a tribute first and foremost. Do not think of them as a child of District 12. Do not associate them with a home to come back to."

"That's pretty cold," I said.

"This job requires being cold. You need to create distance."

"But I'm the victor from District 12. I should always remember that I'm fighting for my District."

"No. The day you became a victor, you lost your District. You are from nowhere now. Not District 12. Not the Capital. You are not fighting for any of them. Just like in the Games, you are fighting for yourself. There is no coming home from the Games. Ever."

He took a swig from the bottle, and I left him in the dark of his empty house.

…

 _Afterword:_

 _This is a co-write between Nyhlus and Bardic Jester. We've written many stories together but this is our first try at writing a Hunger Games story. We'll try to continue if people like it._

 _Please leave a review._

 _Till Next Time - Nyhlus and BJ_


	2. The Reaping

Chapter 2:

I watched silently as the people began to arrive at the square. I sat in one of the four chairs behind the podium on the stage. The two ominous glass balls filled with names were arranged before me. Effie stood to the side chatting with the mayor, leaving me alone before the Justice Building. The camera crews bustled in their nests, shouting orders and arranging lights. The crowds began to form before me. Those aged between 12 and 18 were sorted into rows. I could feel the eyes of District 12 stare back at me. The looks on the teenagers' faces ranged from scared, to worried, to blank. No one was happy. I was supposed to be a beacon of hope: proof that someone had come back from the Games, but that feeling had now subsided to the realization that one probably will not come back this time. It was a miracle I survived. It would taken an even greater miracle for someone to survive again. And this was District 12, where we have always been very short on miracles.

The reaping began with a video explaining the new rules of the Third Quarter Quell. These games were dedicated to the fans in the Capital and the Games of the past. Over the past few months, dozens of polls were collected. These polls would shape the mold of the upcoming Games. The arena would be a collection of six previous arenas with the most votes; my arena, the 74th Games, was one of the ones selected. Other polls selected the weapons to be available at the cornucopia, the kinds of sponsorships available during the games, and any surprises for the tributes, all rooted in past moments from previous Hunger Games. Before the games begin and during the actual event, the Capital fans would also be running a live ranking based on votes, and tributes would be gifted sponsorships based on a high ranking. The only part these rules did not affect was the reaping itself. It would play out like it always did.

Once the video was done, Haymitch stumbled onto the stage. His hair was messed up a little worse, and he had a thick bruise on the left side of his arm. I imagined he put up a bit of a fight while he was dragged out of his house. He could barely move straight, almost missing his chair. The mayor scoffed at him, looking forward to next year when I would be the sole mentor. Effie, wearing a towering hat, along with a dress made nearly entirely out of buckles, gave us a slight smile before moving up to the podium.

She started her speech the way she always did: "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor." It was the same words that began everything for me the year before, because of what came next. "Ladies first," she announced. My muscles tensed up immediately. I had to hold onto my right hand to stop it from shaking. Effie stepped up to the glass ball containing the girls' names. She reached her hand in deep, shifted through the paper for a moment, and picked a single one out. She moved back before the podium, straightened the paper, and began to read it aloud.

"Soma Rhineheart."

I felt a shiver run through me. I did not recognize the name. Instinctually, forgetting Haymitch's words of warning, I searched the crowd for her face. And, then I saw her. There was no mistaking it. Her gray eyes were wide. Her face was blank. Those around turned to face her. She stood among the 14 year olds. Her long black hair flowed wildly down her back. She was from the Seam, that was clear. She had a slender build, while a little taller than the others around her. But I felt my heart sink as the tears began flowing down her face. The others around her tried to reach out reassuringly, or to pull her back among them. It was too late. She was selected. She was chosen. She was about to be swallowed up by the Hunger Games, like so many before her.

The peacekeepers made a through line into the crowd. They grabbed her elbow harshly and pulled her out from the bunch. She did not fight back; instead, she struggled to keep on her feet as she was dragged along. They finally let go of her once she was on the stage. She stood only a few feet away from me. I could hear her muffled sobs as she stood there.

"Are there any volunteers?" Effie asked the crowd gingerly, as if my volunteering might have made it a regular occurrence. "No, I guess not." Effie waved Soma forward closer to the center of the stage where the podium stood.

It took a second for Soma to acknowledge Effie's words. As she moved closer to Effie, she walked right by me and Haymitch. I found myself leaning forward and whispering to her, "keep your head up, wipe the tears from your face." In most games, first impressions were important, but in this Quarter Quell it was essential. Everything was a popularity contest, which would have real consequences on the games.

She turned to me ever so slightly and gave a faint nod. She did not say anything. I could see she was still terrified. "You can do this," I whispered, to give some kind of encouragement. She continued walking to podium, along the way she used her sleeve to wipe her face. She kept looking forward and not down. I was relieved, even just the slightest bit. I barely even noticed I had been digging the tips of my fingers into my thighs as hard as I could.

Once Effie was pleased with Soma's placement on the stage, and after probably getting a signal from the cameramen that they'd gotten the closeup they wanted, Effie began to move to the glass ball with the boys' names. I took a deep breath. In the back of my head I actually felt a sense of relief, knowing Prim was safe for another year. That peace was shattered once Effie read the boy's name.

"Locke Allers."

Another name I did not recognize thankfully. This time I did not have to search the crowd to find him. The terrified scream that echoed from the 13 year olds' section alerted everyone directly to him. He shrunk into a ball before I had a chance to get a good look at him. In the corner of my eye, I saw Haymitch scowl. He opened and closed his fist, like he was wishing for a drink. These would be the tributes for my first year as a mentor: a 14 year old and a 13 year old.

I finally got a good look at Locke when he was carried towards the stage. He was short, with curly brown hair. Once he was placed on the stage, he jumped up wildly, and scooted next to Soma before I had a chance to say anything to him. "Well, I'll say, don't you have some energy," Effie commented, before turning to the cameras with a smile. She did not ask if there was any volunteers this time.

Now that the tributes were selected, the mayor stood up from his seat to read the Treaty of Treason. In my head, I tried desperately to think of a plan. How could I win with two tributes so young from District 12? My mind raced with possible scenarios, each more brutal and tragic than the last. They were about to be ripped apart, just like they'd been reaped from their homes. It wasn't fair. It didn't feel right. I felt sick.

Haymitch tapped me on the shoulder. "I told you," he began, "not to notice where they came from." He spoke with surprising clarity, considering how he looked when he got on the stage. "Our job's just to prepare them for the Games. Do not forget that," he said.

Once the mayor finished, he motioned for Soma and Locke to shake hands. It was a final gesture for the camera. I remembered my handshake from the year before: how it was solid and warm and how all I thought about in the moment was death. Soma and Locke turned towards the crowd as the anthem of Panem began to play.

I sat back in my chair, feeling entirely powerless.

 _Afterword:_

 _Thank you for reading. We hope you enjoyed it._

 _Please leave a review._

 _Till Next Time - Nyhlus and BJ_


	3. On the Train

Chapter 3:

District 12 raced past the window. I had ridden the train over a dozen times at that point. We lived on it throughout the Victor's tour. It might as well have been renamed the Katniss Express that year. Following the reaping, all I could think about was how mystified I was during my first voyage. It felt so alien then. There I was, having just volunteered, traveling faster and further than I ever imagined. It was overwhelming. My whole sense of the world changed over the course of that trip. The scale of things grew. While home got even smaller. My first journey to the Capitol.

In the dining car, Soma and Locke sat eating their supper. Locke gouged at it. He scoffed down every parcel of food placed before him. Soma, despite coming from the Seam, sat straight in her seat. She ate carefully, slowly savoring every bite she could. Effie stood off to the side, disgusted by Locke's lack of manners. She kept herself occupied going over her notes on the special rules for the Quarter Quell. Haymitch was silent, taking the occasional sip of a colorless liquor.

"How is it?" I asked, as I joined Soma and Locke at the table. "Good?"

"Oh Katniss," Soma spoke, "it's wonderful." Her face was still red and puffy from the tears. She cried throughout her good-byes following the reaping. There was a rasp to her voice, but she looked genuinely happy to be eating such good food.

"Hmmhmffph," Locke tried to speak, but his mouth was full. Half chewed pieces spat out. Effie shivered at the sight. She moved a couple steps further from the table.

I smiled at Effie's discomfort. "So, tell me a little about yourselves. It's Soma, right?"

Soma nodded firmly. "Yes. Soma. Soma Rhineheart. My father is a miner. He takes care of us, my sister and I. She's a little older than I am. She handles most things around the house while papa's busy. I help too. Our place is small, so it doesn't take long to keep it up. I like to think it's one of the nicer places in the Seam." She had a perky quirk to her. She almost sounded excited to tell me about herself. Her sister had not volunteered in Soma's stead. My heart ached that only Prim was so lucky. "I'm so glad to finally meet you Katniss. I thought you were so wonderful last year. I could barely believe a girl from the Seam could be like that."

"Thanks," I said. "I wish it could be under better circumstances. What about you Locke? Tell me about yourself."

It took a second for Locke to finish chewing, before he answered. "My father's a merchant. The best one in all of District 12. He's honest too, not like those rats in the Hob. He buys his stuff legit and peacekeepers come by all the time to look at his wares." I winced slightly, thinking about him calling Greasy Sae a rat. Did his father regret dealing so nicely with the peacekeepers now, after they had taken his son?

"Thanks Locke. Now, I know this is a little overwhelming, but I'm here to give you advice," I said. I wanted to markedly set a different tone than Haymitch had the year before. I could feel his cold eyes watch me as I spoke. "We got a little lucky this year, since we have an idea what the arena will be. We know part of it will come from my Games. We can use this to our advantage. We're going to try to take this slowly though. I don't want you getting too overwhelmed."

Locke and Soma stared at me blankly. Both paused their eating. "Uh, Katniss," Soma spoke, "Do you actually think we have a chance of winning? You won, but you're so amazing."

"I, uh," I hesitated. I had not expected that question. "You, uh, well," I struggled to speak. I wanted to say something reassuring, but the words were caught in my throat. Both of their faces dropped slightly, feeling the weight of my doubt.

We were interrupted by Haymitch's hearty laugh. He seemed to be enjoying my failure. "Course you can win. All you have to do is stay alive!" He said. He continued to chuckle, amused by his comment. Locke and Soma looked no more thrilled by his attitude.

"Well," Effie interrupted, placing her hands on her hips. "Why don't we go watch the reapings then? You'll be able to see your competition."

I nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

We headed to another train car and sat around a small screen. Effie fumbled with the remote, before turning the reapings on.

I watched closely. I needed to single out who the biggest threats were and any possible allies. However, with two young and unintimidating tributes, I had doubts about the possibility of allies. There was also the matter of the Quarter Quell. We had been informed that there would be a live ranking of the Tributes before and during the Games. These rankings would result in sponsorships or other advantages. The impressions that tributes gave off were more important than ever.

The first tribute, the female from District 1, volunteered. Unsurprising. But, there was something about the tribute. She was attractive. Gorgeous. Despite being quite tall with long features, she had clear femininity. Her long black hair was silken and her reddish cheeks looked both confident and timid. It was her eyes that captured the interest of the camera. They burned with frightening intensity. The capital was going to love her.

The rest of the tributes from the career districts were your typical fair. The boys were all tough looking brutes. None stood out.

A twelve year old girl with blonde hair was reaped in District 5. It made my heart sink. I had hoped for no twelve year olds this year. I knew it was a stupid thought. All it did was make me feel worse, but I hated to imagine another girl like Rue lying on the ground lifeless.

There were two strong looking tributes from the outer districts. A seventeen year old girl was reaped from District 7. She looked to have a good bit of muscles on her bones. She scowled intimidatingly at the camera, making her look ready to fight. And there was an eighteen year old boy from District 8 who had broad shoulders and looked to have some kind of burn scar down the left side of his neck.

I held my breath as we got to the District 12 reaping. We needed Soma and Locke to look good. Thankfully, the camera did not get close to Soma until after I had whispered to her and she wiped away the tears. She looked sad but resilient, which was all we could hope for. The same could not be said of Locke. The camera got to him much too quickly. His scream was emphasized, almost mockingly, making him look like a scared fool. It looked bad. Real bad. We were going to have a tough time selling him.

Once we were finished watching the reapings, Locke's face was solemn. He knew it looked bad. He and Soma made their way to the sleeping car. They were both exhausted from the burden of the day.

Effie, Haymitch and I were left at the table in the dining car.

"What do you think about them?" I asked Haymitch.

Haymitch downed the rest of his glass. "I've had worse," he said. He pulled the stopper out of a bottle and poured himself more. He filled another glass and handed it to me.

I stared at it for a moment. I was exhausted. My nerves were frying at the edges. I took a sip, but reeled slightly at the harsh taste.

"It's so nice to be back together. I missed you two after the Victor's tour," Effie said. She undid a number of the buckles making up the majority of her dress. It slid off her shoulders slightly and she let out a sigh of relief. "It's hard to believe that it was a year ago when we did all this with you." She stared at me with her doughy eyes.

"Yeah," I agreed. I took a larger sip, without reeling back this time.

"And you were such a delight last year too. Both of you were really. When you won I was so excited. I could not stop smiling for weeks afterwards." Effie ran her fingers through her hair. "But now, I'm actually feeling kind of sad that it is Haymitch's last year. We did this for so long. A part of me felt we were always going to be stuck working together." She playfully tapped Haymitch on the shoulder.

"Me too," Haymitch admitted. His voice was markedly less wistful.

Effie breathed in deeply. "Well I know I will be making the most of having both of you this time. This might be my only chance to accompany two mentors, especially since the odds seem to be in District 12's favor so rarely. I don't think we'll be getting tributes like you two again. If only you weren't both in the same games."

I stood up abruptly from my seat. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm going to grab some sleep. It's been a long day. I'll see you in the morning."

"Oh. Okay," Effie said.

I headed out of the car. As I shut the door behind me, I saw Effie move closer to Haymitch. She placed her hand on his outer thigh and whispered something into his ear. I stood for a moment watching them through the crack. She grabbed what remained of my drink and finished it.

I headed to my room. Like every time I road the train, I desperately wanted to escape. The last place I wanted to go was the destination, but I was trapped on the rails heading straight there: the capitol.

 _Afterword:_

 _Thank you for reading. Let us know what your thoughts are about Soma and Locke. We hope you enjoyed it._

 _Please leave a review._

 _Till Next Time - Nyhlus and BJ_


	4. Chariot Rides

Chapter 4:

Our arrival at the Capitol was hectic. A large crowd greeted us as we left the train. They cheered out my name, instead of our tributes. In that sense, it reminded me of the year before. Both Soma and Locke were mesmerized by the crowds. I pushed them forward, away from the attention. They needed to focus and prepare for the parade. It was going to be especially important this year. And if their experience was going to be anything like mine, they were in for a shock when their prep teams got a hold of them.

After they were showered and cleaned up, I was able to speak with Cinna and Portia. It was so good to see them. Cinna and I hugged for almost five minutes. They both assured me it would not be the same old coal miners outfits for the parade. However, Portia expressed doubt about them matching the success of the flaming tributes the year before. Cinna, probably noticing the doubt on my face, leaned in and whispered. "Don't worry. Soma's in good hands. We helped you come back remember?" With a wink, Cinna and Portia left to go introduce themselves to our tributes.

I lost track of Haymitch almost immediately after we had arrived in the Capitol. He made no indication that I would see him the rest of the night. When Cinna and Portia were gone, I found myself in a position I had rarely experienced in the Capitol: alone. With my mentor duties finished for the moment, all I had to do was grab my seat and wait for the parade to begin.

A private balcony was reserved for the mentors to watch the parade. Twelve chairs were aligned side by side, plus an extra this year for Haymitch accompanying me. Only a couple of mentors were on the balcony when I arrived. Enobaria and Gloss sat together at one end. They were whispering to each other, probably discussing the career pack this year. Neither acknowledged me. I had learned to expect that from victors from the first two districts. I had not met a single one who seemed to like me at all, which I was perfectly fine with.

For the outer districts, it was accepted that once a district had a new victor, that victor took over the mentoring duties from their mentor. It was a way to thank the mentor for helping the victor survive and to acknowledge that the mentor had done their due diligence. They had suffered enough. Haymitch was only accompanying me this year to show me the ropes of being a mentor my first time, which was a common practice. After this year, I would be taking over the role alone. It would be my sole responsibility.

It was different for Districts 1 and 2. The victors generally rotated as mentors. They saw it as an honor and not a burden. They also had a considerably larger pool of victors to draw from. At least every three Games, there was a career victor.

My seat was at the far end, reserved for District 12. The two chairs on either side of me were vacant. They belonged to Haymitch and Chaff, who were out drinking somewhere together. They had no interest in watching the parade. I had been told the morphling from District 6 never came to the parade either.

"Katniss! Good to see you," Ayda, the mentor from District 9, greeted me as she took her seat. Ayda Chambers was the victor of the 68th Hunger Games. She had long curly black hair, dark skin, and brown eyes. During my stay at the Capitol preceding the Games, she had made an effort to help me get accustomed to the new environment. Her friendliness came as a surprise to me, because of the way she won her Games.

Ayda had allied herself closely with her district partner. They worked very well together and their chemistry helped attract sponsorships. It was part of the inspiration for Haymitch's plan the year before. However, right towards the end of her games, when her district partner turned his back to her for a moment, she shot him point blank in the back of the head with the crossbow she was carrying. It shocked everyone. In one of the many polls leading up to these Games, her betrayal was voted the most surprising Hunger Games moment ever.

I did not know how to approach her. I could never imagine killing... him. It made me uncomfortable to be near someone capable of such coldness. And yet, she had been one of the friendliest victors I encountered. She seemed nice, but I could never quite relax in her presence.

"Hey Ayda." I replied.

"Quite the view huh? One of the few perks I guess. If there is such a thing."

The balcony was positioned high up and to the side. We had a clear view of where the chariots would be coming down and the President's balcony where he would be making his address. It was an impressive view. That was clear.

"Katniss!" a voice called out to me.

"Finnick," I said.

Finnick walked up to me with his usual smile. Like always, he wore a loose white shirt that exposed most of his sculpted chest. His short blonde hair was carefully styled to look naturally messy. He sat down right next to me in the seat reserved for Haymitch. "Worried someone will upstage your flaming entrance from last year?" He asked.

Finnick had become very good at finding me whenever I was in the Capitol. He seemed to be at every event I attended the past month. There was something about me that obsessed him. When I was voted the best tribute in Hunger Games history, Finnick came second. Ever since winning the 65th Hunger Games at only 14, he had been consistently popular in the Capitol. This would be his tenth time mentoring. One of his tributes had won, but she was in no condition to take on the responsibility of a mentor.

"Why would I be worried about that? I'm just waiting to see how my tributes do in the parade," I replied.

"Katniss. Everything's always about work with you. You need to loosen up a bit," Finnick said. He sat back in his chair, rolling his shoulders.

"What part of my tributes about to enter a Hunger Games should I loosen up about?"

"You have to take care of yourself. You're going drive yourself crazy if you let it weigh on you. It's the tributes who are fighting, not you."

"You're starting to sound like Haymitch," I said.

He placed his hands over his heart. "That buzzkill? You wound me. I'm just saying it can be healthy to take your mind off a couple of these things. I'm willing to help if you'd let me. You know how many people in the Capitol would pay for such an offer?"

I rolled my eyes. "I feel so honored. Please Finnick. I'm not interested in playing your games. I need to focus. My tributes need me to work extra hard for them. You saw the reapings. You know how much I have to help them to even give them a shot. They're dead if I don't take this seriously."

Finnick sat up from his seat. He leaned in up close to me, so that his face was only a couple inches from my ear. I could feel his breath on my skin. Lightly, he whispered: "There's going to be plenty of time to mourn them after the games. No point mourning them before they even begin. It will only hurt you more, and hurt them too." I turned to see his sea-green eyes staring at mine.

"Geeze Finnick. Give the girl some room. She's barely even started and you're on the hunt," Quill said, catching our little scene.

"I was merely providing Katniss here with some advice." Finnick said. He sat back in his seat.

"Sure you were," Quill said. Quill Tengaar was the mentor from District 5. He won the 67th Hunger Games. He was in his early twenties. He had an angular face with medium length hair and stubble. Unlike most victors, he did not have any muscles or broad shoulders. He was only 5'7'' with a slender build. His games took place in an arena filled with mountains. Quill avoided the bloodbath and used the series of caves and tunnels to avoid the other tributes. The gamemakers felt like he was boring, so they tried to kill him numerous times, including two rockslides. In the Games, there was a much adored career tribute, who killed 6 tributes. No matter how many sponsorships the career got, Quill was able to avoid him. After 32 grueling days, with only Quill and the career left, Quill surprised the career by jumping down from a higher ledge, smashing the tribute's head in with a rock. He was the first and only tribute Quill had interacted with the entire Games. In the recent polls, Quill was voted as one of the bottom five worst victors ever. The title of worst victor ever was given to Annie Cresta. "Try to control yourself, if only for a bit," he advised Finnick.

"You getting in other's business again Quill? Are you ever going to learn to but out?" Johanna Mason asked, stepping onto the balcony.

"Never. Plus, Finnick's my friend. He gets this is all good sport." Quill reached to pat Finnick on the back, but Finnick swatted his hand away. "You might not understand, Johanna, seeing as you've never had a friend."

"For someone whose only skill is cowering like a scared child, you sure like to talk big," Johanna added. Johanna was the mentor for District 7. She won the 71st Hunger Games, pretending she was weak. After the Games, she made sure no one mistook the real her. It made for an abrasive personality. While the mentors from the outer districts shared a level of mutual respect, I often doubted the extent that they actually liked each other.

Johanna focused her gaze on me. "I'm sure Katniss here can withstand Finnick's charm. That is, depending on whether she has any backbone now that loverboy's gone." I scowled in her direction. She seemed to enjoy pushing my buttons.

"Johanna, leave Katniss alone. You know this is her first time," Warren said, joining us. Warren Cassidy was the mentor for District 10. He won the 72nd Hunger Games, just two before me. He was tall and clean shaven with short brown hair and a bit of a pronounced jaw. During his games, he joined the career pack despite being from an outer district. About midway through his games, the career pack accidentally stumbled right into a nest full of ravenous mutts with razor sharp teeth and claws. They all tried their best to flee but he was the only one who was able to make it out of the nest alive.

"Oh Warren, you're too nice. We all had to get our knocks, even our first time," Johanna said. She stepped up next to him. "You're not out of the woodwork either, newbie. You need at least 3 Games to no longer be new."

"You said the same thing last year about two games. You just don't want to acknowledge me as your equal," Warren said. She playfully punched him, before moving down the row to grab her seat. Warren sat down two chairs from me in the chair reserved for District 10. He turned in my direction and said: "It can be tough the first year. I'm still not sure I've gotten the hang of it myself. Let me know if you need anything."

I nodded.

Quill had moved over to his spot at this point and he was joined by Beetee, who sat down at chair for District 3. Finnick did not get up to join them, instead he leaned back in Haymitch's chair, content with staying right by me.

The last mentor to arrive was Cecelia. She had long blonde hair and a warm gaze. She was different from the other mentors. In her early thirties, she had 3 children and a full life at home. Whatever damaged Haymitch seemed to miss her. When she arrived, like an arrow she walked up to Johanna. I remembered that two of their tributes looked strong in the reapings. They whispered to each other, probably discussing the possibility of an alliance. I was surprised they would be clearly scheming in front of everyone. Cecelia had been doing this for years, so there was probably a purpose for doing it so open. Maybe it was some kind of tactic. If it was to make the others worry, then it definitely was working, on me at least.

The opening music began. It blasted throughout the capital. The parade was about to begin. We leaned back in our chairs, ready for the cameras to catch us. Finnick stayed in his place, closed his eyes, and leaned slightly closer to me.

It took about fifteen minutes for the chariots to arrive in the City Circle. In the front, the chariot from District 1 glowed a blinding white light. The tributes wore large wings behind their backs, which seemed to move along with their chariot, almost giving the illusion of flight. It was much more elaborate than the silver tunics the year before. The female, the first one reaped, had an elaborate headdress on with feathers tied in her hair. She was dashing and intimidating, like she was ready to strike. They had went all out into selling the Tributes to the crowd. Everyone was already fighting to get noticed.

The rest of the tributes were styled similarly to the year before. I watched anxiously to see how Soma and Locke were being presented. I had total confidence in Cinna, but I knew it was going to be tough. As they came into view, I held my breath. They were dressed in black with bright reflective diamonds plastered all over their arms. As they were both raised, singular targeted rays of light were thrown in every direction, picking out people individually.

As their chariot passed, both Soma and Locke turned towards me, and threw their spotlights on the mentors' balcony. Through the light, I could see the amused smiles on their faces, clearly enjoying the outfits.

Under the spotlight, with all of Panem staring at us, Finnick touched my shoulder and whispered in my ear: "let them live while they're alive."

 _Afterword:_

 _So a few things about this chapter. There is not much in the books (at least from what we remember) about the mentors, so we're going to be taking certain liberties about how it works. We thought it would be easiest to limit the number of mentors to 1 per, we also decided to introduce a couple unique mentors to this story: Ayda and Quill. Warren is also our creation, but he is meant to be the unnamed District 10 victor in the movie. We hope you liked them._

 _Please leave a review._

 _Till Next Time - Nyhlus and BJ_


	5. Training Begins

Chapter 5:

Following the parade, I made my way to the Training Centre. It stood tall in the middle of the Capitol, with its sleek esthetic. It felt worlds away from the bloodshed it caused. We all knew that the Games truly began when the tributes arrived for training. I rode the elevator up to District 12's floor, watching as the expanse of the city floated below. I had a quick drink as a I waited for the others to arrive. One of the bottles Haymitch had specially ordered; there was enough that I doubted he would notice. The pressure I felt from the other mentors, despite their mostly kind words, rubbed anxiously on my skin. I needed something to help me calm down.

Effie escorted Locke and Soma to the floor. They were clearly shaken by the parade, but the mood was positive. Soma tried to tell me about Cinna's mastery, but her words were too quick and barely coherent. I let them recuperate in their quarters, before we had dinner with Cinna and Portia. Our conversations with Soma and Locke were kind enough. They were confident in how they were presented. Soma thought it was brilliant, thanking Cinna repeatedly. Locke insisted that the whole Capitol was enthralled by their ride. It did not take long for them to begin to waiver, the exhaustion of the day catching up, and I excused them for the night.

After they left, we turned towards more serious business. While Soma and Locke's outfits were effective, they lacked a sense of personality. It was necessary to make them attractive. No amount of diamonds could distract them from Locke's cries. And Soma, despite looking resolute, had nothing to sell. The fire from the year before was effective, but it was reinforced, refocused, and grandized by the holding of hands. There was no similar spark here. Portia lingered on it endlessly, while I stole a couple more fingers of Haymitch's bottle. We all agreed that something needed to be done for the interviews if we hoped to make a real impression.

Haymitch arrived late. He was sickenly drunk, barely able to move straight. He mumbled incomprehensively about Chaz and the parade and President Snow, but we could not make out a word of it. Effie put him to bed, while I said farewell to Cinna and Portia.

I laid awake late into the night. Despite the drinks, my mind continued to race. The training center was where the first real lines began last year: where we sowed what eventually became our Games and grew the roots to my eventual victory. But, like everything the Capitol touched, it was so cleaned and spotless now, it was like we had never been there before at all.

We began training the next morning. Soma and Locke sat across the table from me. Haymitch was silent to my side, nursing his hangover, barely swallowing his stew.

"Alright," I said. Haymitch and I had already gone through a script weeks before. It felt a little wooden, but I wanted to look confident in my words. "Training has officially started as of this moment. Haymitch and I will be coaching you over the next three days. If you like, we'll coach you both separately. Choose now."

Soma and Locke shared a quick glance. "Were you coached separately last year?" Soma asked.

"No," I said.

"Then, I think we should be coached together," Soma said assuredly.

Locke took a little longer to respond. "Fine," he agreed.

"Okay. First, we're going to need to know your skills. Let us know what you can do."

"I can fight!" Locke proclaimed, standing up proudly from his seat.

"Yeah? Fight what?" Haymitch asked, unimpressed with his boast. Locke looked a little red, and sat back down.

I gave Haymitch a look, hoping he'd back off. I did not need his cynicism now. This was my moment to pry a little deeper. "Have you fought before?" I asked. "Did you wrestle?"

"No, but I used to get into scraps in the schoolyard. I bit Thinbog's ear once. He didn't show his face for about a week after," Locke said confidently. His words had a slightly sinister twist to them.

I gave Locke a good look over. If he got into any kind of one on one fight with a career he would be finished. I admired his spirit but needed to find something to work with. He was small. Even for his age. He could not have been much bigger than Rue, which gave me an idea. "Are you fast Locke?"

"The fastest," Locke claimed, his boyish grin returned. "We used to race back to my father's shop after schooling. I always won."

I was relieved to hear this. It was something I actually believed. He had such a small frame, he could use it to get away. "Great." I told him. It was not great, but it was something, which for Locke, was the best I could hope for.

With a grin I turned to Soma. "What about you Soma? Do you have any skills?"

"Oh. I'm no good at that sort of thing."

"I don't care if you're good or not. I want to know what you can do. Do you have any survival skills? Have you ever had the chance to use a weapon?"

"Well," Soma paused, "I've fired a bow before."

"A bow?" I said in surprise.

"Yes. I started after watching you last year. You were so impressive, I wanted to give it a try. All of the girls in the Seam did."

"How's your shot?"

"It's okay," she said coyly.

I stood up from my seat and headed to my room. I traveled with a bow ever since the Victor's tour. It was common for people to ask for a picture with me holding it. I'd been given nearly a dozen over the past year, many with unique frivolities. The one I kept with me was simple and resembled my bow in the Games. I brought it back down into the dining room with some arrows. I handed it to Soma. She hesitated before gripping it.

I moved a chair to the opposite side of the room. "Shoot this chair."

"I don't want to ruin it," Soma complained.

"Shoot it!" I ordered.

She let an arrow fly. It hit the chair dead set in the middle. I nodded my head. It was a good shot. I moved over to the table, grabbed an apple, and placed it on top of the chair. "Shoot this." This time, she shot immediately. The arrow hit the apple right in the middle. "Yes!" I exclaimed. This was good. This was something I could work with. I motioned for Soma to retake her seat. "Have you been out hunting with it?" I asked, referring to the bow.

"I never had a chance. I was the best at hitting the targets though."

"Okay. This is good. I want you focusing on the bow and your survival skills at the training centre."

"No," Haymitch interrupted me. "Don't even touch a bow. You'll be making yourself a target if you do. While we do not know which weapons will be in the cornucopia, we do know they have been selected by popular vote. Following last year, I'm sure it'll be there. But this is a curse more than a blessing. Tributes are going to want it, hoping to look like the next Katniss. You don't want them looking out for you."

I was annoyed by Haymitch's correction, but he was right. Johanna Mason showed how powerful hiding strengths was as a strategy. "Haymitch is right. Don't touch a bow while you're there. You're best to focus on weapons that are not too physically taxing. The careers will overpower you everytime, if you let them. No spears or maces. Try to sneak in some time studying survival tactics when you can."

"What about me?" Locke interjected.

"If you're fast." Haymitch jumped in. "Stick with things that are fast: daggers, handaxes, or sais. Your size gives you an advantage at being quick. Use it," Haymitch declared. I was impressed by Haymitch's expertise. It actually gave me a sense of hope for this year.

After we finished eating, Soma and Locke traveled down to the training floor to begin the first day. Effie messaged Haymitch and I to head back up to our floor. The Capitol was going to release the first rankings from the popularity polls, based on the reapings and the chariot ride. There were going to be multiple polls leading up to the start of the Games. For this Quarter Quell those with high rankings were going to be given some kind of advantage at the beginning of the Games. We did not know what exactly.

In the elevator up I turned to Haymitch and asked, "Do you think the training will help them?"

Haymitch chuckled as he stole a couple drinks from a flask. "Not a chance."

The rest of the elevator ride was spent in silence. My hopeful optimism disappeared. I had to remain strong. Even if Haymitch had given up on them, I did not. When we got up to our floor, Effie rushed over to the screen and turned it on. Haymitch and I took a seat to watch the announcement. Before us flashed the portraits of all the tributes ranked.

At the very top unsurprisingly was the girl from District 1. Her name was Celeste. She would be the one to beat this year. Second place was another career, the brute looking boy from District 2 named Daro. The girl from District 7 was third, the one with the scowl at the reapings. This came as a bit of a shock to me. I did not expect her to be so high, her name apparently was Flay. She seemed like a good fit with Johanna. At number six was Cecelia's 18 year old tribute, I made a note of his name too, Rictor. My eyes had to travel far down the list to find ours. Soma was 19th and Locke was last at 24th. Even the 12 year old girl from District 5 ranked higher than him. Cinna's outfits had barely made any difference. I swore angrily, which made Effie looked slightly taken aback to my side. This was not going to be easy. I deflated down in my chair. It looked like everyone had given up on them, except me.

 _Afterword:_

 _Thank you for reading. Let us know your thoughts so far. We hope you enjoyed it._

 _Please Leave a Review._

 _Till Next Time - Nyhlus and BJ_


	6. Training Continues

Chapter 6:

Soma and Locke returned from the training area as the sun began to fall behind the tall buildings of the Capitol. Effie brought them up. Their dragged their feet slowly behind her, clearly exhausted. The day had taken a toll: the cherry red of Locke's cheeks was drained. His eyes drooped heavily. Soma, who usually walked with her back straight and her head level, slouched her shoulders. She barely looked up to acknowledge me. Not only the physical activity of the day affected them. They were shown their meager rankings in comparison to the other tributes. For Locke, who was ranked last, it must have felt impossible. Their poor odds, without the confidence of the people, was even more insurmountable.

As we ate dinner together, Effie prodded them with questions. She had spent most of the day gossiping. She traveled across the different floors looking for someone willing to share any information. Neither Soma or Locke were interested in her questions. She even continued after they had finished eating.

"What about that Flay girl? She's from an outer district and ranked 3rd! Can you believe it? What was she like?"

"I don't know," Locke answered.

"I tried to speak to her," Soma said. "Lots of the tributes were trying to. She just shrugged at me. She was guarded."

"That's to be expected by one of Johanna's tributes," Effie agreed. "What about Celeste? I heard she glowed at the news of being first.

"Effie!" I interrupted. "I think that's enough. They can go."

Soma turned to me with a relieved look. Locke nearly jumped out of his seat at the words. Both of them were happy to have some time alone. The day had been overwhelming; I felt the same thing the year before. There was no point in going over details then. They needed to recover. It could wait till the morning.

Effie looked disappointed, but she quickly collected herself, and turned to Haymitch by her side. Unlike the year before, where Haymitch stayed at least partially sober to help us through the Games, he showed no regard this year. His head swooped as he ate, and the harsh liquor was clear on his breath.

"And where were you this afternoon?" Effie asked him.

"Chaz."

Effie pressed her thumb and finger thumb on the bridge of her nose. "You were with Chaz?" She grabbed one of Haymitch's bottles, and poured herself a drink. "How is he doing?"

"Fine."

"You see anyone else?" I asked.

He nodded. "Finnick and Quill."

"Were they together?"

"Yes. They joined us for a drink."

"What did they say?" I asked.

"Well, Quill's got that 12 year old this year so he's no fun to talk to. Not that he's ever been much fun to speak with. That's District 5 for you."

"And Finnick? He say anything?" Effie interjected.

"Only thing he wanted to talk about was Katniss," Haymitch said. A slight smile grew on his lips. "He wanted to know every single detail about our little burning girl."

"Oh! Gosh!" Effie fluttered. This was the sort of information she fed on. I could feel myself getting red in the ear. That was just like Finnick, talking about me in public like that. My stomach twisted, but the feeling quickly turned to anger.

"He should be trying to help his tributes. All of you should be. Not wasting your time getting drunk in the Capitol. Why are you not taking this more seriously?"

Haymitch leaned back in his chair. "This is your first year. You have a lot to learn. Don't spend every waking second worrying about them. You're just going to burn yourself out and then you're no help to anyone. Besides there's not much that can be done with these tributes anyway."

"How can you say that? It is our responsibility to save them."

"We're not saving anyone! How many times do I have to tell you? Our job's just to prepare them for the Games. That's it. All you're going to do is torture those kids to work as hard as possible during the last days of their life to reach a completely unreachable goal."

I stood up from my seat. In anger, I stormed out of the room, leaving Effie and Haymitch at the table. I couldn't imagine he'd be so callous. We were these kids' last chance. They were our responsibility. I was not going to let that go. I was not. I stood outside the door for a minute, trying to catch my breath. I looked back into the room for a moment to see Effie rubbing Haymitch's back. It all felt absurd.

I could barely sleep that night. Instead, I spent all night mapping out the arenas for this year's Games, trying to find the best routes. I knew the woods of my Games and I'd be damned if I did not use that knowledge to the best of my ability to help these tributes.

The next morning, I began training with Soma and Locke alone. I made no effort to wait for Haymitch. The drunk was only going to ruin things. I still felt a little frustrated, but I hoped to use it to our advantage. Locke barely noticed over his food. Soma stared at me from across the table with her empathetic gray eyes.

"So, what were your thoughts on the other tributes?" I asked. "You said that you did not get to share a word with Flay from District 7. Any others?"

Soma shook her head. "No. Honestly, no one even seemed to notice me. I spent most of my time studying survival skills."

"Good," I said, unsure whether that was actually good. "Locke?"

"They stayed away from me. Especially when I showed off how quick I am with daggers." He made a stabbing motion with his breakfast knife. It looked more like a child playing a game, than one preparing for war.

"Well, before you head back to the training center, I was thinking we should go through the map of the arena. We have an advantage this year since the arena will be partially based on one I fought in." I pressed a small cube on the table and a 3d holographic rendition of my arena grew out of it, covering the table. "To fully utilize this advantage you're going to need to orient yourself to where to the forest is relative to the cornucopia when you first enter the arena. Hopefully you will be in a position where you can make a straight run towards them. Otherwise you will have to use the initial chaos to mask your movements but you must not go to the cornucopia under any circumstance."

Soma nodded at my words.

Locke had a puzzled look on his face. His mouth was slightly agape. "What? Why should we not go to the cornucopia?"

"It's too dangerous."

"But then they'll get all of the weapons."

"You'll have to make do without them."

"But I'm fast!" He insisted. "You said so yourself. If I grab a weapon, then I'll be able to take anyone down."

"No. You will not. The careers have years of weapon training. They know how to fight with and against them. You will lose one on one, even if they don't team up on you."

"Not if I get my weapon first," Locke tried to argue.

"It doesn't matter. You will run away. It's your best shot."

"Then I might as well be dead!" Locke nearly yelled out. He stormed out of the room, similar to how I did the night before. I rubbed my forehead, feeling overwhelmed. I started to regret doing this without Haymitch. I breathed in deeply, trying to calm myself down.

Soma smiled at me from across the table. "He's just a little angry about being ranked last," she said, trying to find an excuse for his behavior. "What's next, after we run from the cornucopia?"

I stared at her for a moment. Her calm was soothing. I could barely believe a girl like her grew up in the Seam. Deep in my stomach, a feeling began to fester: I needed to save this girl. I needed to put everything I had into it.

"You'll need to run to the forest," I said pointing to the line of trees on the hologram. "You will need to get water. There is a stream about a days walk that should hopefully be there." I pointed it out on the map. The stream of water I remembered all too well. The place where I found... him. "The best way to get there is to make sure you're running on a constant incline."

I continued going over every detail for my plan for the rest of the morning. I outlined hunting strategies, elevation advantages, and basic disarmament technique for getting a bow. Her success required getting a weapon she could use. Soma watched intently. Her face showed complete concentration, as if she was acutely aware her survival depended on my help.

As we finished, for the first time, I started to believe that maybe there was a chance. All she needed to do was survive the longest. So long as she used my skills, it was possible. I had done it the year before. It was reachable.

When it came time to head down to the training floor, I collected Locke from his room and escorted both of them down myself. Effie, who usually did this, was not in her room, so I took on the responsibility. Locke refused to speak with me, but knowing that he did not have a choice in the matter, followed my lead.

I could only go as far as the entrance to the training area. I tried to give them an encouraging look as they entered. Soma smiled back at me, while Locke continued without a glance back. Before heading back to my floor, I walked to the observation deck, which looked down on the tributes. The room was mostly empty, except for Cecelia who stood just before the glass. Her tribute, Rictor, with the burn scar down the side of his neck, stood in the training area speaking with Flay.

"Hi Cecelia," I said.

"Hello Katniss. How are you finding your first time as a mentor?" Cecelia had a warm voice. There was a maternal feel to it; the way I used to imagine my mother speaking before the mining accident.

"It's not easy. I have a lot to learn."

"We all felt a little invincible after winning our Games. There is no more humbling experience than this. You have a tough batch as well. Although I have been keeping an eye on your girl Soma. She could prove useful."

"Really?" I said, regretting almost immediately my reaction of disbelief. This was the first offer I had received about an alliance. I could not let it slip through my fingers. "She's skilled," I tried to insisted.

"Oh? In what?" Cecelia asked. I bit my tongue. I had forgotten that we were keeping her archery skills secret. Cecelia let out a little laugh at my expense. "It's okay. You do not need to share. Finnick's right, you do need to relax."

"Finnick's been talking about me?"

"Yes. Must be fun being his new favorite. Many are jealous for the honors. But I'm sure you do not need to be warned about it. You do know about his situation back home, right?"

"I've heard things."

"Good. Strength may have been enough in the arena. You're going to need a lot more to keep your head up here."

And she walked out of the viewing area.

 _Afterword:_

 _Thank you for reading. We hope you liked this chapter. We'd love to hear your thoughts._

 _Please leave a review._

 _Till Next Time - Nyhlus and BJ_


	7. Reflections

Chapter 7:

I thought about what Cecelia said as I rode the elevator back up to District 12's floor. Despite her nice tone, the words issued a challenge, or at least warned of a problem. Soon, once the Games began, we would be fighting among each other for sponsorships. Our tributes would be literally at each other's throats. This had already begun, in a sense, as we planted the seeds for the Games during training. I knew all this beforehand. It just felt, at that moment, more at hand. Like I could reach out and touch it. It was wholly distinct from being a tribute. There was a sense of tunnel vision then, where my focus was squarely on surviving the Games. It was all so much bigger on the other side. The cogs of the massive machine pushing forward were exposed to me. And it was frightening.

The floor was empty on my return. There were no signs of either Haymitch or Effie. Haymitch's absence was expected. He rarely woke early, unless he was needed. He liked to sleep off his hangovers. Still, this was the Hunger Games, I partially expected him to be awake, wondering about the morning preparation, but he must not have cared. Effie's absence was more notable. She usually buzzed around the walls like an excited bee. The time in the training center was her favorite part of being an escort. She described how, during training, the training center was the most important building in the Capitol. People would be asking her questions about her experiences there for the rest of the year. Unlike the Games, which were a drab affair according to her, the training allowed her to shine in the apex of social culture. So, it was unusual for her to be absent, without an indication that she had left.

I decided to rest, returning to my room. I laid down. The crushing feeling of responsibility was exhausting. I only wished I could remove that butterfly in my stomach from being called Finnick's 'new favourite' by Cecelia.

When I awoke, the stale air of the Capitol was as tasteless as ever. The steady fluorescent lights kept the room looking identical to when I had fallen asleep. I stepped out of my room to find Haymitch sitting at the table. His messy blonde hair covered most of his face. He rotated my holographic map slowly, watching it with his blank eyes. He had either just woken up like myself, or he had just not gotten dressed. The loose fitted pants he slept in sagged at his hips.

"Your arena?" He asked, without acknowledging my presence.

"Yes."

"It's good." He leaned forward, "I can still see it all so clearly." He traced his finger along a path. "This is where you ran and hid with Rue. And here's the tree with the tracker jackers." He continued to point out more points of interest throughout my Games. "I was watching the whole time, you know?" There was a surprising warmth to his voice. His eyes stayed centered on the map. "I saw it all. Seeing this, I'm surprised it's all so vivid."

"Do you remember all of your tributes' Games so well?" I asked.

"No. I've tried hard not to remember them. You were the one who finally gave me a reason not to forget."

"Are you happy about that?"

He sat in silence, rubbing his rough hands over the stubble covering his mouth. "Partially. You barely understand. I had competitive tributes before, those who had a chance, but, every damned time they were cut short far too quickly. You kept going. You were different. Still, I was terrified it would end suddenly. Your luck would run out and the cycle would repeat. I could not stop shaking. I barely slept for more than a couple of minutes at the time." He let out an exasperated laugh, like letting out steam. "It was Effie who helped me control myself. Who would have thought? She really stepped up then. You have no idea how much you owe her. By the time you, both of you, were at the end, I could not forget that if I wanted."

I did not respond. He had never spoken about his time during my Games before. I had no idea what to say.

His blank eyes returned, looking past everything. "While I'm glad it's all over and this is my last time, I wish I did not have to pass it on to you. This was my personal burden. The death of District 12's tributes was my curse. It hardly feels like a reward to pass onto someone who finally won."

He took a deep breath and brushed the hair from his eyes. "I do not want to see this map again. Do not show it to Soma or Locke." He turned off the hologram.

"It's too late for that. I went over it with Soma this morning. We planned out an entire strategy on it," I informed him.

"Damnit Katniss."

"What? We know my arena will make up part of this year's arena. We should use that to our advantage."

"But we don't know how closely they will try to replicate it. This year's arena will be based on six past ones. That's five other arenas as well. We have no idea what that is actually going to look like until the Games begin. Game Masters always try to surprise the crowd. This years will be no different. Soma needs to be able to improvise. There is no guarantee she'd be even able to access your arena from the cornucopia or if it is even the wisest move. She needs to adapt, otherwise she's bee so focused on following your map, she won't even realize she's run straight into a group of careers."

"Soma will be fine. She knows what type of things to expect at least. She's not going to run around blindly. She'll notice her surroundings."

"That girl idolizes you Katniss. She would happily follow any direction you gave even if it put her in danger."

"We went over other things too. Strategies. Things that will help her out there. Like how I used my hunting."

"And what good did that do? She grew up in the Seam. She's not going to be able to magically pull of advanced hunting techniques."

"I also grew up in the Seam, are you forgetting? Plus, you saw her skills with a bow. She can do this Haymitch and I can help her."

"Soma is not you!" Haymitch shouted unexpectedly. He slammed his fists against the desk. I was shaken by this uncharacteristic outburst. It was the first moment he actually seemed to care. "Why can't you listen to me for once Katniss?"

"I don't understand," I said.

"Everything I've been saying, this whole time, our job is to help prepare them for the Games, not to save them. You're pushing her into a mold that when she's faced by the madness of the arena, she will be completely unable to execute. We need to give her the tools to solve the impossible task of surviving, not try to give her the answer. If you tell her what to do, her first thought out there will be 'what did Katniss tell me', rather than 'what do I need to do to survive.' She'll be lost out there."

"But I did win using these techniques. This will give her a better chance than throwing her in there with no guidance. I'm not going to let her die."

"You did not win because of your techniques. No victor from the outer districts has ever won because of their techniques. If it was merely up to that, then the careers would win each and every time. The Games are way more complicated than that. You've only really been involved in one Games. I've been involved them again, and again, and again, and again, since before you were even born. I've seen great hunters fail. I've seen great marksmen fail. I've seen the most liked fail. All dead and forgotten."

He poured himself a drink, rubbing his eyes. "There is no winning formula. What's worked one time has utterly failed other times. Giving Soma your skills will not mean she will win. We can give her tips. We know hiding your strengths are important. We know getting sponsors is important. But, all we can really do is watch and hope. They are the ones in the arena and that's where it all happens and where it all matters."

"We're in this too," I insisted. "You just said so yourself. You were watching the whole time. Without you guiding me to the water, or getting sponsors for me, then I would have failed in the games. This is the same thing. I want to help them like you helped me. I believe in Soma. She can use a bow. If she uses her training right she can learn to hunt. She can do what I did. She can survive!"

"She can't and she won't!" Haymitch downed his entire glass. "You could hit a moving target. She can't. You had years to learn to hunt, she has two days. And even if we were able to map out the arena, give her all your strategies, all your knowledge, all your skills, all of your sponsors, it still would not be enough. Because you were different. You had way more."

"What else did I have?" I asked raising my voice. My frustration was building. "What did I have that she doesn't?"

"You had him!" Haymitch yelled. "You had Peeta."

Peeta. The word made me sick. Desperately, I reached out to grab a chair. Haymitch watched me with his weathered eyes. He knew what the name did to me. He knew better than anyone. During the week following the Games, while I was bedridden, he sat at my side. He saw how the shell around me was cracked and thin. He saw how difficult it was for me to sleep on the Victor's tour. He knew it was something awful. It was hard on him as well, but for Haymitch, there was an inevitability to it, like every other tribute he mentored.

I tried not to think about Peeta. I reacted violently to the mention of his name. My palms became sweaty. The back of my head pounded like a drill. It was a disease that threatened to tear me apart. I hated what it made me feel. I hated thinking about it. I hated it. I hated it.

Peeta. The unimposing son of a baker, for whom the odds were not in his favor.

Peeta. The kind tribute from District 12 able to transcend his limitations.

Peeta. The person who loved me more than anything else.

Peeta. The boy who gave up his life for me.

Haymitch rose from his seat. He adjusted the loose pants hanging off his waist. "That's enough of this. It's not helping anything. When Soma and Locke return, we'll plan out the strategies for the private sessions and the interviews."

I nodded absently. I could barely breathe. It was like I was sinking deep into an ocean. The last light on the surface was slowly fading away. I was being enveloped by an overwhelming darkness. Instead of swimming against it, my body felt heavy and weak. As desperately I wanted to take another breath and fill my lungs with air, I knew it was slipping further. This was my new state. I was cursed with being here, trapped, desperately wishing my life was something else than this endless nightmare.

 _Afterword:_

 _Thanks for reading. This was a heavy chapter. We wanted to capture the severity of it. Hopefully you liked it._

 _Please Leave a Review._

 _Till Next Time - Nyhlus and BJ_


	8. Training Scores

Chapter 8:

The training scores were announced the following day. The unique nature of this Quarter Quell, with its dependence on popular support, meant any benefit was important at this stage. Haymitch and I worked with Soma and Locke to prepare for their sessions. I coached Soma on how to make an impressive looking arrow shot. If they did not pay attention, then I instructed her to fire in their direction. They would understand it was a message from me. Locke was harder to coach. He had no demonstrable skills that could impress. Even if his speed was impressive, the space was too tight to show it. Haymitch had to inform him of the tough reality: he was going to have to make it up on the spot. He knew his body. He knew what he could do. It was up to him to see what was available to him and put his everything into whatever he picked. Locke, to his credit, did not seem discouraged by it. If anything, the possibilities excited him. Whether this would help, I had my doubts.

While the sessions were ongoing, Haymitch and I sat together silently at the table. Our intention was to make plans for the interviews, but I was too on edge. Memories of my session flooded my mind and filled my stomach with anxiety. I was so worried that I ruined my games before they even began. So, instead of speak, I finished two fingers of Haymitch's whiskey. He was happy to oblige, always glad to have a drinking buddy.

When Effie brought Some and Locke back, we sat together to watch the scores be announced. Soma sat to my right, her back straight and rigid, while Locke rested his feet up on my left. They may have seemed tense, but, in comparison to how I acted the year before, there was a strange calm before the reveal. Pictures of the tributes began to flash on the screen. Below their portraits, the number was written in a clean black. District 12, as always, came last. Celeste from District 1 was the first: she received a ten. Daro from District 2 also received a ten. The twelve year old from District 5 received a four. She must not have had the same skills as Rue the year before. I caught my relief from her score. It meant Locke would likely not be last. What an awful thing, feeling glad that someone so young cannot fight. Johanna's tribute with the scowl, Flay, got a seven. This was expected. None of Johanna's tributes ever received a high number. I'd once heard that her first batch of tributes just stood still during their session to get as low a number as possible. The next Games, to discourage this behavior, the gamemakers arbitrarily granted her tribute's high numbers to put a target on their backs. In a rage, she threw a chair out her District's floor window after that. Cecilia's tribute, Rictor, received a nine.

Finally, it came to Soma and Locke. Soma's picture came first: a number seven appeared below her. I could hear her let out the breath she'd been holding. A seven was good; well, it was good enough. Then we waited for Locke's number. In reality, it was only a few brief seconds. But, it felt like those seconds stretched out endlessly before me, only to finally leap unexpectedly. In his picture, he had a sneering mischievous face. Below him: the number five.

"Damn!" Locke yelled out. He jumped out of his place and began to pace around, throwing his arms to the right and left. Effie shook her head at him, as if she expected him to just accept his score. Haymitch, stoic as ever, took another sip of his drink.

The updated ranking came next. There was a flash vote conducted following the release of the scores. People watching were allowed to react in real-time, affecting their ranking of tributes. Celeste stayed in first. Johanna's tribute fell down below all the careers. Her low score may have been a good strategy other years, but this time it may have backfired slightly. Soma stayed at 19th. Locke moved up a single spot to 23, just above the twelve year old. He smiled slightly at the gain, but then moved back to his nervous pacing. I wanted to remind him that he was only thirteen. We couldn't expect much more. But I knew that would do no good. This was the curse of District 12. We always lost before it even began.

Our attention turned towards the interviews. It was one of the few areas we had a couple of advantages. Firstly, we had Cinna. Secondly, I'd just been voted the best tribute in Hunger Games history in a poll a couple weeks prior. If we could pass on some of my popularity onto Soma and Locke, then they may be able to rise up in the polls. The only problem was that despite my popularity, the interviews were where I felt the most inadequate. The best thing that could be said about my interview was that I did not totally embarrass myself. That felt like a miracle in and of itself.

We all sat together around the table. Effie stirred in her seat excitedly, eager to give pointers from the Capitol perspective. Haymitch sat slouched in his chair as he topped off his glass with whiskey. I spoke first. "Okay." Both Locke and Soma looked at me with intent. I felt a lump in my throat. "The first thing you need to do for the interviews-" I spoke meekly before getting cut off my Haymitch.

"The first thing you need to do is ignore what Katniss says. She's no good with the interviews." Haymitch stared straight at me with his heavy eyes. "All she knows how to do is shut up and twirl. Which, unfortunately, will not work for you lot." He spoke slowly, imposing himself over the room. Soma and Locke shifted their attention towards him. "Soma. You love Katniss right? You're a big fan."

"Absolutely." Soma responded, perking up.

"Good. Because she just happens to be the most popular person in the Capitol right now. The only difference between those fans and you is that you're under her direct tutelage. How does it make you feel?" Haymitch asked.

"It's amazing."

"Let the Capitol know. Let them know what Katniss is really like to be around. Tell them about how special the experience has been and how much you want to make her proud. Don't forget to mention you grew up in the same neighborhood too. Make sure when they think of Katniss, they will now think of you as well." Haymitch instructed. I sat back in my chair, allowing him to take the lead. On one level, he was right, I had no idea how to plan for the interviews. The Capitol was still a real mystery for me. This was an area, after twenty four years, that Haymitch had learned, probably through painful trial and error.

"What about me?" Locke asked.

"I want you to go up there and tell them exactly what you've been telling us." Haymitch said. "Explain how everyone has been underestimating you and that you're a force to be reckoned with. Can you do that?"

"Yeah!"

"Now listen Locke. Listen to me very carefully. Any reaction from the crowd is good, and I mean any reaction. If they start laughing at you. Remember that they are just proving you right. Channel their disbelief, get more cocky, more confident. Do not get discouraged up there. You need to show them no fear."

"No problem."

It was the first time Haymitch had taken the lead in training since we arrived in the Capitol. I was impressed. In all his drunken stupor, it was easy to forget he masterminded the love plot between... he and I. I would have never won without it. It was the key to getting our sponsors. He knew what he was doing. Those years had given him enough time to know how to play the game. I still had so much more to learn. I feared it would take me as many years to reach him. Still, I felt like the plan with Soma earlier had been the right decision. He was still fallible.

After Haymitch finished outlining the plans, Effie took over. She explained how they were to accomplish their goals. In precise detail, she went through how to speak, how to wear the clothes, where to look, how to breathe, all of the intricacies of looking proper before the camera. Soma nodded her head attentively, while Locke slouched in his chair, slipping in and out of sleep. I sat absent mindedly for most of it, having heard much the year before.

I had trouble falling asleep that night. Everytime I closed my eyes I saw my games. Different scenes flashed before my eyes like vivid paintings. Killing Glimmer, Rue's death, finding Peeta, and then the end, the final moments of the games, played repeatedly before me, Cato, Peeta and I atop the Cornucopia, the mutts clawing at it from below and then, it's just me. The victor. My burden. My curse.

When I awoke, it was late. I readied myself in a hurry. Effie and Haymitch waited at the table. I had a few choice words with them, despite Effie's protestations that I looked too calm to be woken. Soma and Locke had already left to their prep teams to get dressed. Effie insisted that they had been properly worked through, she had a session with both of them earlier in the day, and that they were "ready to face the lights!"

"Come on, let's go." Haymitch told me. He wore one of his wrinkled suits, looking out of place next to Effie's elaborate white coat wrapped around with thick red ribbon. We headed down together. They'd built a new theatre for the interviews this year. It was located near the bottom of the training centre. I was given a tour of it during the Victor's tour, but so much of that was a blur. I let Haymitch lead the way as I followed. Getting back stage without accidently running into anyone required walking through winding corridors. Effie leaned her hand on Haymitch's shoulder; she had not expected to walk so far in her impossible heels. We arrived at a large set of double doors and stepped in.

Backstage was a big open space, perhaps larger than the actual sitting area in front. The tributes, mentors, and escorts were congregated in small pockets. At the far side, I could see Locke and Soma huddled together. Portia stood next to them, laughing with Soma. I began to head in their direction, when there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Finnick standing next to me.

"Katniss. Hey. Can I talk to you for a second?

I gave him an annoyed look. Just like Finnick to appear now, like some unlucky ghost haunting me. "Fine." I nodded at Haymitch and Effie to keep going. Finnick and I moved over to the side. "What is it Finnick?"

"Just wanting to check in, see how things are going?"

I huffed. "Are you serious Finnick? What are you doing? I don't have time for this. My tributes need me." I took a step away when Finnick grabbed my arm. I was quick to swat it away.

"I'm serious. Cecelia said she ran into you and you seemed totally frazzled. Your first games as a mentor are the toughest. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." I insisted. I did not need this. "I'll be better if I can get to my tributes and help them prepare."

Finnick waved his hand dismissively. "You guys go last. You have plenty of time. If anyone should be worried it should be me, my tributes go fourth."

"Then why aren't you?"

"They'll do fine. This isn't my first rodeo." Finnick said with a chuckle. "I'm just glad to see you're holding up well. And hey," Finnick touched my shoulder. He began to talk softly. "If you need anything. I'm here. We look out for each other. This doesn't have to be your burden alone."

"Thanks." I said instinctually, without knowing whether I meant it or not.

 _Afterword:_

 _We know, the lack of Finnick is starting to annoy us too. But don't worry, only one more chapter until the games start and then there will be a lot more Finnick, we promise._

 _Please leave a review._

 _Till Next Time -Nyhlus and BJ._


	9. Interviews

Chapter 9

Once I was able to break away from Finnick, I headed over to Soma and Locke. I could see Haymitch talking to them. He was giving some last minute advice; going over our strategies and reminding them about our goals. I felt like I needed to hear what he was saying as much as they did. His role this year was not only to act as mentor, but to show me how to mentor myself. Knowing what he said to prepare the tributes would help me know what to do next year. I still felt inadequate surrounding the interviews. Any help was good. The thought of doing all of this myself the next year was frightening. Overwhelming.

As I moved through the backstage area I saw most of the tributes huddled with their mentor. I passed Quill who was crouched down on one knee talking to his twelve year old tribute. Judging from her face she looked worried and Quill was trying to calm her down. In the corner of my eye I saw Finnick return to his tributes.

A figure walked in front of me. It took me a second to recognize who it was: Celeste, the female tribute from District 1. Her long black hair was tied up into two buns. She wore a slender red dress that matched her rosy cheeks. She looked right at me with her fierce eyes. Her eyes could stop even the toughest competitor in their tracks. I felt glad I did not have to face her in my games. I was expecting her to scowl at me. After all, I killed both Marvel and Glimmer. Remembering that fact made my heart sink. I never liked killing. Instead, she smiled at me. I was taken aback. "Hey," She said in a quiet voice, looking over her shoulder. "Gloss said I shouldn't talk to anyone outside the career districts, but I just wanted to say, I'm a huge fan. I cheered for you even before the games started. You were amazing."

I did not know how to respond. It was not something I was expecting to hear, especially from the tribute from District 1. "Thanks," I muttered.

She nodded her head and hurried away towards Gloss. I watched her dart across the room until I caught Haymitch eyeing me from the far end of the room. He gave me a questioning look. I shrugged. I started to wonder if I had judged her wrong. I began to wonder if I knew anything. I continued through the room. I could see more of the outer districts in their groups, when something caught my eye. Flay, Johanna's tribute from seven and Rictor, Cecelia's tribute from eight were off to the side. They were conversing with each other, neither of their mentors were in sight. Flay looked relaxed, but the scowl on her face remained. She wore a red and black dress. Rictor's stance was awkward. He wore a dark blue shirt with no tie. The top button of his suit was unbuttoned so you could see the scar on the left side of his neck clearly. I could just faintly hear them speaking.

"Can I touch it?" Flay asked.

"No," Rictor said. He had a deep voice, but I was struck by its softness. Flay moved her hand towards his neck, as if she did not hear him. He sighed, pulled his shirt open slightly more, and said "fine."

Flay delicately placed her fingertips on her scar. He turned his head away, staring at the empty wall. Flay kept her fingers still, before tracing them across his neck. As she reached the end of the scar, Rictor swatted her hand away.

"That's enough."

Feeling like I had been there long enough, I kept moving. I did not want to cause a scene by getting caught snooping. It was hard to tell what I had just witnessed. The whole thing was confusing. Why were these two tributes acting so close? The general rule is to keep them as separate as possible. Otherwise, it might be difficult for them to kill the other. I'd seen them briefly conversing before, in the training area when I delivered Soma and Locke. I also remembered Johanna and Cecelia whispering to each other during the Chariot Rides. I wondered if they had set up an alliance. It made sense. The careers were tough this year. I wondered whether I should inform Soma, but I decided it was best if I consulted Haymitch first. I was out of my element.

When I finally reached the others I got a full view of the outfits Cinna and Portia had prepared. Locke wore a white suit with a black trim. Cinna had given Soma a nearly identical braid in her hair that I had during the games, except a few feathers stuck out the back from the top of the braid to make it look more formal. She wore a dress similar to mine from the interviews the year before except it had a very distinct blue color instead of my red. "How do we look?" Soma asked, after noticing I was looking over their outfits.

"Amazing. I'm really impressed." The comment got a smile from both Locke and Soma.

"Cinna and Portia are the best weapon we have." Haymitch said. "They saved your sorry ass," Haymitch directed at me. The tributes had a laugh at my expense.

We went over what we had prepared a couple more times. When the interviews were about to start Haymitch directed me to go watch them. I wanted to stay, but he promised me I would be no help if I stayed. There was a rare advantage of having two mentors, since we could both watch and prepare them. After a bit of protest, I headed over to the exclusive mentors balcony. It was directly connected to the backstage area. The slick walls of the new theatre were spotless, like no one had touched anything at all. My shoes echoed as I stepped on the pristine floor.

The theatre itself seated more than a thousand. From the balcony, I couldn't see a single empty seat in the house. Only a few of the mentors were there. Most preferred to be with their tributes backstage. On the far right side I saw Enobaria and Gloss sitting casually. Sitting with them was Finnick who gave me a wave. I rolled my eyes and headed to the far left side. The only two mentors of the outer districts on the balcony were Ayda, the mentor for District 9 and Warren, the mentor for District 10. They both greeted me with a nod but said nothing. I sat next to Ayda and starred down at the stage. It was beginning.

Caesar looked as ridiculous as ever. He wore a flashy orange suit and a matching orange hairdo. He looked like a pumpkin. The first interview was Celeste. She sat with confidence and poise. When asked about her place at the top of the Quarter Quell rankings, she brushed it off by saying, "it shows the intelligence of the Capital, since clearly I am going to win."

When it was Daro's turn, the male tribute from District 2, he was asked about being in second in the rankings. Daro's response was to bang his fist on the couch. "It's stupid!" He exclaimed, "I should be number 1. I'm not about to lose to some stupid girl." I figured he was trying to come off as intimidating, but instead he came off as aggravating.

"Well, someone has a temper." Warren commented.

"That doesn't bode well for the career alliance." Ayda agreed. I leaned over to see if there was any response from the career mentors, but Enobaria and Gloss continued to speak casually to each other, as if nothing had happened. Their confident pageantry was not going to be broken by something as simple as a little outburst.

None of the next few tributes stood out for me. Finnick's male tribute kept doing this thing where he'd wink at the audience, but it looked unnatural. Finnick's face tensed up each time they did it. The twelve year old from District 5 started to tear up when Caesar asked her about home. Caesar tried to comfort her but when that did not seem to be working, he wrapped up the interview early so she could get off the stage. It was hard to watch. I felt a tear drop steak down my check. I remembered my sister's face as she was dragged towards the stage right before I volunteered. There was no reason a sweet girl like her should be in a place like this.

Ayda shook her head. "Quill never had a chance with her."

I leaned in when Flay took the stage. I hoped for some proof of my earlier suspicion about her and Rictor. In the beginning, she sat straight, her scowl filling her face. Caesar's questions received simple and direct answers. It's when the conversation turned towards strategy that things became interesting.

"Tell me Flay," Caesar began. "How do you expect to handle this year's arena? As you know, it will be made up of six previous arenas?"

"Well, Caesar, I'm not too worried. It means I have six winning strategies I can copy."

"And which one do you think is the best?" Caesar asked.

"Easy. Katniss. And not just hiding in trees, stocking prey, and taking out supplies."

"What else could you mean?"

Flay turned her head towards the cameras. For the first time, a smile crept onto her lips. I sat back in my chair, confused about what she could be hinting towards. "She did not let the games change who she was. She could have easily have forgotten about Peeta and never looked back, but she didn't. She still went looking for him. That's why we all love her. She allowed herself to grow and trust those around her. She formed bonds. She found meaning and a purpose beyond surviving. Without that she would have never have won. I want that."

I stared down at the stage with my eyes wide. She made my time in the games sound grand, and I the great hero. But it was not true. I did form bonds with my fellow tributes, but she failed to mention how they both died because I could not save them. I failed them. I was no hero. This Flay girl had praised me, used my popularity in her interview to her advantage. She was using the same interview strategy we had planned for Soma. This was Johanna's doing.

The next interview of note was Rictor's. He slouched slightly as he sat down. His hands were clasped together tightly on his lap. Caesar did not beat around the bush. "Rictor, we're all dying to know, how did you get that scar?"

"A fire."

Caesar leaned in close to Rictor. "Is that all you're going to tell us?"

Rictor nodded. "Yeah, that's all you're getting."

I thought he might lose the crowd without giving more, but they seemed content. I found myself disappointed in his response. I was still curious as to what might have happened to him. I wondered if it was Cecelia's plan to keep it a mystery. I also considered since he was from District 8 it could have been a factory fire or something that the Capital would not approve being mentioned. I was also disappointed because neither he nor Flay said anything about having a potential alliance. Flay had mentioned my bond with Peeta but that may have been just to gain favor with the Capital.

After the District 11 male left the stage my leg began to shake. My nerves were starting to get to me. When I saw Soma step onto the stage I could barely watch. She sat down with grace, something Effie must have taught her. "So, Soma," Caesar began, "How are you liking the Capital?"

"It's great. It's so pretty and everyone is very nice." Soma said. Her voice sounded higher than normal. She was nervous so she was straining her voice.

Caesar nodded his head. "And the best part?"

Soma glanced around before replying, "Can I be completely honest?"

Caesar flashed one of this large smiles. "By all means."

"Getting to be here with Katniss."

"Wow, Katniss sure is popular. The Capital loves her, Flay loves her, and now are you saying you love her too?" Caesar asked in an exaggerated tone.

"Absolutely. She's better in person than I could have ever imagined." Soma twirled her thumbs. "And, I want to win for her."

I hung my head. I felt sick to my stomach. I could not watch anymore.

Locke hurried onto the stage with a bounce of energy I had learned to expect from him. He plopped down on the chair with childish abandon.

"Locke, how's it going buddy?" Caesar asked, matching Locke's energy. Caesar gave no sign of any fatigue even after conducting 23 consecutive interviews.

"Good!" Locke exclaimed. "I'm feeling confident!"

"Confident! That's great, why don't you tell us why you feel so confident?"

"Because I know I'm going to win." Locke explained. The crowd responded with a mix of laughter and applause just as Haymitch had predicted. Locke looked out at the crowd and flashed them a big smile. "Laugh all you want, I'll be the one laughing at the end when I win!" The crowd answered back with full applause.

It made me smile to see the crowd react that way. It took a second for me to realize I was also crying. Tears began to stream down my face. In a daze I touched my cheeks. I was happy he was happy, but at the same time his happiness made me sad, because he did not have long to enjoy it. This was it. Tomorrow they'd be in the games. After becoming a victor I learned something valuable. There is no winner of the Hunger Games.

When I looked back up I saw Finnick standing directly in front of me stretched out leaning against the railing. He blocked out my view of the theatre, but that also meant he was blocking their view of me. He stared off into the distance. "You shouldn't let them see you like this. Don't worry. It happens to all of us."

I stood up and hurried off the balcony.

…

It was quiet once we returned. A solemn lull lifted itself up from the Capitol and filled District 12's floor. I watched the city through one of the windows. Its flow continued, like blood passing through veins. And the next day, it would continue too. The same could not be said about everyone in the room. Even if, by some unimaginable miracle, Locke or Soma was crowned the victor of the 75th Hunger Games, the 3rd Quarter Quell, then only one heart would continue beating. The other would be lost. Still. Fading away into memory.

The new rankings were released before we even returned. In the final order, Soma moved up one spot. Locke did too. 18th and 22nd. We may have done our jobs, but what good did those two extra spots give us? Flay, Johanna's tribute, moved up back into 3rd place; her strategy of appealing to people's love of me paid off. It made Soma's interview seem played out by the time it got to her. We had not thought about the order when we planned our strategy. We should have expected someone would try the same thing. It was foolish. We were foolish. And we squandered the only chance we had in giving her an advantage during the Games.

The other two in the top three of the tributes were Daro in second and Celeste as first. We were informed before the Games began that the top tributes would receive an advantage depending on their rank. This was all we knew, but it was unsettling in itself. Finnick's year showed how devastating an early advantage can be.

Still, it wasn't the rankings that worried me that night, it was our final goodbyes before the Games. Haymitch, Effie, and I were to be relocated to the Hunger Games Headquarters. Our time to say something to Soma and Locke was limited. In the morning, they would be brought to the arena without us. We'd already be watching a world away, working to get them sponsors. Any last encouragement or statement needed to be said then. Once we were gone, anything we wanted to say, any advice we wished to give, would only be indirect; a suggestion in the form of a hard fought sponsorship.

As the evening dragged on, our inevitable farewells weighed on me. In this moment, of any moment, I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be the fearless girl on fire; the girl from the Seam who was able to beat the odds. But I knew, no matter how strong I may be, my strengths meant nothing here. I was a cog in the machine of the Capitol sending these kids into the worst place on the planet: the Hunger Games. I might as well have reaped them myself. I allowed it all to happen. I was responsible.

It was Effie who finally spoke first. She stood up, trying to hold in her emotions. She spoke generally at first, speaking about her year as the escort of a victor. She described how it changed her. She no longer wanted to be the escort of anywhere other than District 12. She also knew loss after the last Hunger Games. One of her perfect tributes was gone. She had an appreciation of what could have been with each gone tribute. So, she wished, earnestly I believed, that both of them could come home. Her eyes, however, were squarely focused on Soma, the proper girl. Her care for Locke may have been contained in her words, but the sentiment did not travel nearly as far.

Haymitch was next. He raised his glass in their direction. Keeping it simple, he said the same parting words as the year before: "stay alive." Soma and Locke nodded in acknowledgement, understanding the sentiment.

Then it was my turn. I'd known what I wanted to say for a long time. They were not my words. They were _his_. No matter my bow skills. No matter my survival instincts. No matter how hard I fought. It was the real reason I won. It was the reason at the end of the Games, at one point there was three of us on the cornucopia, and then there was one. "No matter what happens out there, I want you to be true to yourself. I want you to show that even in the Games there's still you." They stared at me blankly, not completely understanding my words. It didn't matter. Nothing could be done then.

I walked over to Locke and brought him into a hug. "Give them hell."

"You got it."

Then, I went over to Soma. As I approached, her eyes seemed deep and infinite. She dashed forward tightening her arms around my back. I brought my arms over her shoulders, holding her as close as I could.

"Thank you Katniss," she said. Her voice was emotional, tinged with fear and regret.

I pulled her in closer. I did not want to let go. I did not want to let someone else go into the arena. I was done with this. I was done with the Hunger Games. I didn't want her to die. I didn't want anyone else to die. The emotions I'd been holding back, those terrible things eating away at the back of my mind, they came forward then. Bursting through the levys. I began to cry. "I'm sorry," I said, choking on the words. "I wish I could save you. I'm sorry."

Soma, the kind and gentle girl from the Seam, placed her hand reassuringly on the back of my head. Here I was, her mentor, and she was consoling me before her Games.

"I know Katniss. You did everything you could."

…

 _Afterword:_

 _Next chapter the Games begin._

 _Please leave a review._

 _Till Next Time -Nyhlus and BJ_


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